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Zolton Does Amazon: Marital Aids

I originally wrote this piece for MediaShower.com, for use on the late, great comedy site ZuG.com. Text and images published here with permission.

A lot of single guys are deathly afraid of getting married. Some of them have girlfriends — or fiancees, or mothers, or pushy tuxedo salesmen — pressuring them to take the plunge, but to no avail. You’d think the “knot” they were tying was on a rope tied around the poor guy’s testicles — just before a bunjee jump over a horde of rabid in-laws. The classic “damned if you do, violently castrated with stretchy nylon rope if you don’t” dilemma.

Me, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’ve been married for years, and I tell my bachelor buddies all the time: Getting married is the easiest thing in the world. You can do it in your sleep, practically. Or while drunk. Or in some states, while bound and gagged in the back of a pickup truck.

So getting married isn’t difficult at all. It’s the staying married that’s hard.

But with a woman, “to have and to hold” in the general proximity? Well, that requires us to be on our best possible behavior, 24/7/365, for somewhere in the neighborhood of the next forty to eighty years. Or until you drop dead of an aneurysm from trying to remember which fork to eat salad with, or which indistinguishable shade of white you’re supposed to paint the bathroom. Think you can handle that?

Think again, Bonzo.

“It’s a trick, right? These are blank white sheets of paper!”

Me, I’m in the marital doghouse so often that I started taking meals in a bowl on the floor. It’s just easier that way. But in the constant struggle to do just enough to not warrant a divorce, I do have some tools to help. Most of them I picked up on Amazon. Have a gander at these products, and my fake Amazon reviews:

This book was just what I was looking for — a clear and detailed explanation of how to behave civilly and graciously in almost any social situation. If I could just apply the lessons from this book to my life, my wife couldn’t help but be proud of me.

Unfortunately, I started reading it during dinner on the couch watching TV, and got pizza sauce all over the first few pages. Some of the middle bits are sort of blurred from when I accidentally spilled beer on it, and a few pages near the end are … well, missing. Let’s just say that there are certain advantages to reading a book in the bathroom when a toilet paper emergency arises.

What’s left is great information, and I’m sure it’ll really be useful.

Also, all things considered, it’s probably lucky I didn’t opt for the Kindle edition this time.

The first step to being on your best behavior is looking your best, so I picked up this 13-piece grooming kit. I’ll be honest — I wasn’t entirely sure that I had thirteen parts that NEED grooming. And I have no idea what some of these gadgets are for, exactly. The “traveling toothbrush” didn’t go anywhere on its own, that I could see. And a “cuticle pusher” sounds like the tough guy on the street corner my mother warned me about.

Still, with a little trial and error, I put the tools to good use. The nail clippers are great for clearing out ear wax, the lint brush is a super alternative to dandruff shampoo, and the nose hair clippers work just about anywhere that resembles a nostril. Even vaguely. Which is more places than you’d think.

“Beauty is only skin deep. But with these, I’ll be pretty two full inches inside!”

Most importantly, I use the shaving mirror to keep a lookout to make sure no one can see the dangerous and unspeakable grooming experiments being performed. I’m not fabulous yet, but with this kit I think I eventually stand a chance. Remember, Rome wasn’t manscaped in a day.

Nothing sours a sweetie’s puss quite like passing wind in her vicinity. But try as we might, there are times when it’s simply unpossible to keep the blast doors shut and the noxious gas contained. That’s when this device really comes in handy.

I took the sound emitter, hid it under the dog’s blanket, and stashed the remote control in my pocket. When the pressure mounted and the gassy hounds demanded release, I simply let them go — silently, if at all possible. And then tapped the remote. Bingo! The sound came from the direction of the dog; ergo, the godforsaken eye-watering noxious stench must have come from the dog, too. My wife blamed the mutt’s butt instead of mine, and the day was saved.

“Bitch, I done tol’ you: It wasn’t me.“

Of course, it was a harder sell when we were in another room. Or the dog was nowhere near her blanket when it “went off.” Or when the dog found the device and carried it through the house making slobbery chewing fart noises everywhere she went. I tried blaming it on beans in her kibble, but the jig was up.

Now I’m paying for the ruse. The wife’s being extra-nice to the dog for all the abuse she gave it, and she won’t let me in the house without three shots of Bean-O and an absorbent sponge down the back of my pants. Peachy.

Nothing says “love” like “Honey, I’m sorry I’m a slack-jawed Neanderthal with the social graces of a lobotomized hyena.”

And nothing says “I’m sorry” better than roses. Lots and lots and lots of roses.

So I figure, screw it. It’s too hard acting civilized, trying to look sharp and walking the straight, narrow and uncomfortable path that leads to Miss Manners’ cottage. The lessons are unlikely to stick, anyway, so I might as well get on with my filthy heathen life and apologize with flowers when I step out of line.

With lots. And lots. And LOTS of flowers.

Yeah, it could get a tad expensive. But if the alternative is “fork classes” and learning the difference between eggshell and ecru, then color me rosy. At least it’ll keep me out of the doghouse… right?

“We pretty much knew it would end this way, didn’t we?”

Want to continue the prank? Click the links to see each real-life Amazon review, then mark them as “helpful” so they rise to the top of the list on Amazon!